Tharbad knew they were running. He had been in sort of a stupor for the last few days, since losing his legs, but now he had finally gotten a leg up (dohohohohoho) on the situation, although he really wasn't quite sure what they were running towards. He ran as fast as he could, clutching the mighty Bar in one hand, one of his hewn off legs in the other hand, and the second leg clenched between his teeth as he howled like a pissed off banshee.

Intelligent and bright, they explored a world that was new and strange to them. They liked it, they thought - a whole world just for them! They were dimly aware that a God had created them, was watching them; they called out to him, thanking him in a chittering language, before running off.

Name: PatsySkill: BakingHP: 3Glory: 8

Patsy was tired and stumbling, but he kept on trying to run. He'd abandoned the bread scraps miles back, it was impossible to try and chew that stuff while running. Running... running... even the word had lost it's meaning now. Foot... foot... step... stumble... foot... stumble... stumble... trip... stand... foot... foot...

-[The Rushing Horde]-
The Unexpectable Horde packed in record time, with Magda gently prodding them onwards with earsplitting bellows. Nägel was a day or two of solid hauling rear end away, accounting for the weight of the wagons, and none of them were looking forward to it. But the Warlord had called for them, and besides the Töan form was finely tuned for distance and speed. They strapped on their sandals and shoes and assorted stolen foot coverings and were off, leaving the Nailed populace of Fostis to go about their programmed business.

The first few hours were tough, but the Horde sang and cajoled and competed, and soon enough they all sank into a rhythm they could feel beating in their chests. In only a short time, the group of former strangers had grown close - certainly comrades, if not quite family. They had gained a sense of the strengths and weaknesses of their allies, and knew that in turn they could count on one another. Magda, pulling a wagon by herself, watched them quick-marching in unconscious lockstep and allowed a smile to feather its way across her lips before the rushing wind tore it away.

-[Nägel]-
“Go, my Horde! Tear those worms out of the very earth so I may feast on their entrails!” Grimper wasn't certain whether he would actually do that or not, but it was always good to make a strong impression. Another Oh-Gee vault! This country must be littered with them - and he'd claim them one by one. Oh, sure, that wasn't quite his mission, and beyond that was a stretch of his authority… but he was the only one out here, and by the time the Regency Council tried to reign him in his claims would already be made! It was a shame this one had already been cracked, been sullied by the Frömen, but he'd clean them out soon enough and reap the fruit of their labors. His forces were already surrounding the great Olivite gate, trying to pound away at the (relatively) weaker hinges. Oh-Gee artifacts could be tricky, but since this one has been opened it was probably (probably?) inert. At least, no one had had their skin torn off yet, which was a good sign.

One of the Horde who he'd assigned to search the area - in fact, one of the fellows who had 'infiltrated’ - handed him a sheaf of papers his crew had gathered during their time in here. Hmm. Perhaps they'd had a plan after all. He waved the man away and read it with growing concern.
Tch, what a hassle. The prison appeared to have been largely emptied of common criminals and the lesser-Monsterized to feed their Inhabited program. The corresponding decrease in guards had made their infiltration somewhat easier, but the Warlord was astonished that it had been done at all. That made for rather more Inhabited on the field than expected, particularly if this had been repeated in other facilities. He needed to get a message to the Council, which meant Noostra. What a pain. Well, one thing at a time. He leaned against the wall and waited.

-[The Rushing Horde]-
The Horde kept running. It was one thing to sneak a small group through swampy enemy territory, and quite another to run a heavily supplied army through it! Wagons kept getting stuck, people kept losing boots, and the Horde as a whole was pretty hungry. Grumpily, they threw heels of inedible bread at Patsy the Baker until Magda spoke up. “You eat your horrible rock bread and you like it! Unless you helped make it you can't poo poo on his efforts! This terrible sawdust lump is all you deserve, and better than my Horde got to eat in weeks! If you don't like awful poo poo-bread help out next time, or else stop your belly-aching!” Patsy did not feel significantly better about the bread after her 'pep talk’, but he laughed along with the Horde and they kept going.

No Fröman scouting parties, no wild beasts, just a clean, simple, incredibly arduous marathon. The Horde came up with dozens of marching chants, mostly insults about the enemy, but the most popular - from Patsy - was a rhyming dirty about crunchy-dry yeasty beasties and the slaying thereof. And so they whiled away the hours.

-[Nägel]-
Hammering, hammering. It was pretty dull work, waiting for his Horde to pound their way through. It would take him a fraction of the time but, well, he obviously couldn’t really exert himself here. Not so close to… anyhow. He watched and waited for reports coming in from scouts. The prison was confirmed to be pretty much empty of prisoners, and it had been so for quite a while. Everything was scrupulously tallied and cleaned as they went, as though they wanted to remove every scrap of everything good or fun from the building. Based on the data coming in from the scouts, he suspected they’d be able to gain a good picture of precisely how many Inhabited were generated here, which was something, he guessed. In his revery, he happened upon Starn the Sieger... lounging. When pressed, he informed the Warlord that he thought it prudent to starve them out. He was, after all, a siege specialist, and an important part of sieging was the long-ter
“GO DIG!”

He went to dig.

---

Dack and Snödis heard the pounding from above and knew what it meant - and so did their guards. When they threw open Dack’s cell door, eyes full of panic and grim duty in equal measure, he watched them until they got close - then dove between them!

Amidst a cacophony of shouts, clangs, and unearthly roars, Dack escaped, running against the flow of scientists and distracted guards and climbing upwards towards the massive hatchway and his allies.

Snödis allowed herself to be carried away, then strapped into a chair facing Zapanda. The Administrator looked flustered, and she paced restlessly, occasionally ordering others to ‘make sure that the research was secured’ or to ‘go calm the warden down’. She pointedly was not torturing Snödis, so she took a chance. She crooned out a poem to sway her captor, and hoped it would be enough to save her neck. Or at least distract her for long enough that it wouldn’t matter.

Administrator Zapanda peered at her through her glasses, then called her team back. The guards looked uncertain, but they did nothing as she locked them all into the room. She sat at a desk across from Snödis, then sighed.
“I’m no fool, Töan. I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s not going to work… only… listen, I’m loyal to my country, and certainly do not support your ridiculous war, but the research we’re doing here is beyond any of that. I serve a higher calling than patriotism here, and I can read plainly that your band of savages up there is going to bash through our ancient, perfect mechanism, come down here, and burn everything we’ve worked so hard on. If - if! - I throw in with you, you need to promise me that my team and I will go unmolested. We have years of records down here, and without us it’s all going to be nonsense to you! So we’re all going to hunker down in here until this is all over, and you’re going to be our… be our hostage. Just, for heaven’s sake, wouldn’t you like to see a cure for Monsterism in your lifetime? Haven’t you of all people suffered enough for it?” She fell silent, running her fingers through her hair. Scientists and guards stood by, silently, waiting for the stomach-churning something that was bound to happen any second now.

(Dack, you’re free! You can count on being able to throw in with the rest of the Horde once (if) they get down here. Snödis, you on the other hand are still captured. Tied to a chair, in fact, and limited in options. But you can definitely talk to your captors and ask questions. They seem relatively willing to bargain. Make no mistake, if you pry too much, they will hurt you, particularly if they deem your use as a hostage to be pointless.)

-[The Rushing Horde]-
Nägel was in sight, just over a day since the Horde left Fostis! That must surely be a record, though none of the Unexpectables were in a position to check right at the moment. The image of the imposing structure lit a fire in their tired bellies, as did the sight of the trench dug in front of the front gate, already half-filled with infiltrating water and Fröman bodies! They whooped and hollered as they kept up their pace - and then they saw something unexpected. A contingent of guards or prison staff, plainly sneaking away under cover of darkness. Hoping to get away with news of the attack? Hoping for reinforcements? Too bad! Magda bellowed an order to hunt them down, but the Horde was already galloping towards them, weapons drawn and shining in the moonlight.

The Unexpectables lived up to their name once again as the Nägelian messengers shat themselves in terror mere seconds before they were smashed over and over into the mud. Not one managed to escape, despite the Horde’s exhaustion, so amped up were they from the prospect of having arrived at the nick of time! Imagine they had run a little slower, pushed themselves a little less hard - everything could have gone wrong, their infiltration revealed! Ha ha ha ha ha HA HA HA HA! They squashed the bodies deeper into the mud then kept going - Warlord, your Horde has arrived!

-[Nägel]-
After several solid hours of hammering, the hinges seem to be giving way. Grimper wasn’t sold just yet - it could easily be an Old Guy trick, the fragments of the hinges turning to birds and soaring through armor and flesh like water. He’d only count a victory once he peeled this can open and scooped out the frightened innards. From the sounds outside, the rest of the Horde had arrived as well. Excellent. Excellent! It was all going according to plan, and he LOVED it! “Go, my Horde! One final push! One last spear to pierce the hide of this metal beast! Go!”

With a groan and a hiss of pressurized air, the hatch snapped open, the release flinging several members of the Horde around the room like ragdolls. It didn’t matter - it was open! With a collosal and combined effort, the Horde managed to wrench the heavy hatch off to clatter backwards onto the floor with a disconcertingly quiet thud. Beneath, a tunnel led down into a corridor lit by unearthly Oh-Gee lights. The Horde went down into the pit, watching and listening for anything strange. Dack the Athlete tore around the corner, fleeing in terror. Grimper watched him in mild annoyance, wondering what the hell he could possibly be that afraid o-

(Alright! Get cracking! Literally all of you are here in time due to the runners’ good rolls, so everyone is available to fight - besides Snödis, otherwise occupied. You’ll note they have some weird dice stuff - don’t worry about it, just fight! You’ll learn about it if it comes up. Don’t worry about finding Skillcores or loot - you do NOT have time currently! Good luckkkkkkkkkk~)

Dog Kisser fucked around with this message at Nov 7, 2017 around 18:37

The march had been long, and hard, and while her enthusiasm had initially put her at the front of the pack, the weight of her armor soon had her in the middle, moving at a still-respectable clip. It had been pointless to try and rush off like she had--it wasn't like the entire Horde with its wagons could follow suit, and what exactly was she going to accomplish running off alone? She'd have been caught out by the fleeing guards, that's what would have happened. In fact, as it was, they'd already arrived exactly on schedule, just as the Vault was about to be split wide open. She craned her neck as she jostled her way to the front of the group, trying to catch a glimpse of Spleen, let him know that she had something for h--

Her thought was cut short by the sight of Dack, fleeing around the corner. Had he escaped capture? Where there more guards on the way? What was that noi--

Oh.

A wave of fear washed over Noggins as the Wendigoes turned the corner. They were even more horrible than she'd thought they'd be, worse even than the accounts of the twisted Sungazer. These had been people once, and Nägel had done... this to them. Infected them, twisted into these horrible, screeching monstrosities, so loud that Noggins felt like her head was going to split open. What would happen, if she got bit? Would she turn into that to? Lose her mind and become... become...

Noggins ran, screaming...

..Straight at the tall wendigo, which looked to have once been a Fröwoman. She barely registered her own actions, almost guided by some unseen hand even stronger than the pull of the Nail ritual had been. With a mighty leap she lunged at the monster, grabbing a fistful of its awful, matted hair in her free hand, feet scrabbling to find purchase on its back as she plunged her sword into its neck, praying that there was still something vital there.

A cure for monsterism? Snödis could hardly believe the Fröian nation would stoop so low as to attempt to thwart the next step of pure Tö evolution.
Oh sure, she wanted the Wendingoes contained, controlled, as much as anybody else, but to her the advantages of dormant monsterism were clear as a day seen through four eyes at once.

She had tried her best to sway Zapanda, and though their ideologies were almost diametrically opposed, Snödis' words had at least swayed the scientist to stand down.

"Fine. On behalf of the Unexpectable Horde, I accept your surrender. Follow my lead and I promise; you will not be hurt."

Seeing the gibbering horrors shambling toward them, Qwäg feels a hot, blunt pang of terror twisting in her chest. She tries, and fails, to marshal a cohesive plan; her thougts scatter like a flock of bïrbs before a pouncing töger.
Still grasping desperately for composure, but pushed inexorably forward by her charging comrades, Qwäg falls back to what she knows best: Memorizing and reciting endless actuarial tables.

"According to table TAM-83," she mutters under her breath, feeling the grip of panic beginning to crack, "The 5 year projected mortality rate change of male, 35, Monsterist is 22.53..."

She grips her pointystick in blanched knuckles, raising it high as she treads forward with greater vigor.

"An additional BMI increase of 10 increases the rate to 76.7 in a 90% credible interval," she growls as the fear begins to crumble away, charging the fat, laughing wendigo with a snarl.

"Let T be a continuous random variable with cumulative distribution function F(t) on the interval [0,∞)," she screams with tears streaming down her face, thrusting her weapon at the goggling eyes of the horrific aberration, "YOUR SURVIVAL FUNCTION APPROACHES ZERO, YOU FAT PIECE OF CRAP!"

Gado simply stands in shock as the cacophany of terror comes skittering around the corner. It isn't until Noggins charges down the loudest one, leaping up onto the thing like a Tö possessed, that he snaps out of his stupor.

Noggins wasn't going to take that thing down alone however, reaching into his coat Gado pulls out a wriggling tied of bag and gives it a few shakes before charging forward a few steps and swinging the Bone Tö Pick in a powerful arc at the wall, digging out a large gouge and sending splinters of stone into the Loud Wendigo's guts alongside the bloodied pickaxe.

With an entrance made, Gado snarls at the little bundle in his hand "Now go make yourself useful this time!" He pulls the tie from the bag and puts the opening up against the Wendigo's wound, releasing an incredibly irritated MAD MOLE to dig its way to freedom, straight through the innards of the enemy.

Hunched over and breathing heavy in front of Nägel, Gabber had no idea how his body had persevered through their day long march. Beyond his pounding headache from the bender he'd put on the night before, he'd managed to lose both his boots while crossing the swamps. He'd gotten one stuck first, and attempted to reach down and find it in all the muck, but all he managed to do was soon after lose the other as well. Meanwhile the rest of the Horde kept sprinting, sprinting, sprinting....he'd had no choice but to soldier on. His poor feet were in shambles - blisters on top of blisters - and who knew when a good set of size 10 3/4 boots would turn up on the stockpiles?

He'd thought he'd have some time to rest his aching body upon arrival, but that was before they saw the Nägel messengers trying to flee at first sight of them cresting the final hill. Digging deep, adrenaline and the Nail carried him through their bulldozing of the enemy forces. Cleaning the bloody blade off on his pants, he found himself a momentary respite. His head was spinning - what he desperately needed was some rest, but his Horde mates were in danger, so onward they went into Nägel with Gabber bringing up the rear...

As they made their way past the warden's office and into the pit below, Gabber was one of the last to descend. As he did so, his weary eyes suddenly focused on the discarded, glowing green hatch resting against the nearest wall. Eyes widening in alarm, he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks - an Oh-Geez vault? Here?! ~*The slice of the blade/the rending of flesh/the hiss of gas*~ Oh no. Oh no no no....

Trying to catch up to the rest of the group as they made their way down the hall, Gabber ran up to those Unexpectables nearest to the rear and frantically began trying to grab their attention. Waving frantically, he tried to get across that they couldn't be here, that they had to leave - now! However, before he could get anyone to understand him, Dack came fleeing around the end of the corridor, monsters from the thing of nightmares trailing behind him.

It was too late to flee, they were upon them in a flash; and even if he could flee Grimper would surely end him soon enough if he refused to fight. Shakily unsheathing his sword and shield, Gabber took a few tentative steps forwards as other around him more bravely charged headfirst towards almost certain death. He took a few, precious moments to analyze the situation. The corridor was dark, and the flickering lighting made it more difficult to clearly define the flickering monstrosities around him. Thinking fast, Gabber blinked his left eye, then his right, then both, turning on his night vision. Things suddenly came into clear and horrifying focus; the monsters themselves going from shadowy beasts to clear and present nightmare fuel. All three beasts scared him to his core, however his newly more sensative ears cringed at the horrible shrieking of the darker colored monstrosity. Finding what resolve he could, Gabber watched the beast's movements and looked for an opening to strike!

Hob ran towards the screams, drawing his bow, pulling one stick free from the bundle on his back and notching it.

Wendigoes. Time seemed to slow. Hob was back in his nightmare, unable to move. The way they moved seemed unreal. The noise!

Noggins appeared in his field of vision, snapping him out of the trance. A voice in his head echoed. protect the Queen. The bow was already drawn back, pointed at the Loud One. Hob let off a shot at the loud one: 1d100+724, stick arrow sailing through the air. Protect the queen, sting sting sting! He could feel his skill core straining in his chest, already used, unable to grant assistance.

Not waiting to see if it hit our not, his bow was looped back over his shoulder, shield pulled round from his back, sword drawn. Too slow. Need to be quicker. Need to be better.

Wow, these guys were mad gross! Grumbus reflexively threw up at the sight of them, not that there was much stopping him in the first place. He let out a wheezing war cry and charged the loud one. Can wendigos even get sick? It was time to find out.

"Little by little the old world crumbled, and not once did the king imagine that some of the pieces might fall on him"

GeliaHP: 3:Glory: 2
Skill: Daydreaming (cooldown) Töan history

Gelia gasped as she saw the terrible creatures in front of her, but when the rest of the horde showed up, her eyes lit up brightly. "Our comrades are here just in time, this is just like the Great Stand of Tölastein, when a horde of simple, loyal Töan citizens stood against a dozen Wendigo, armed with nothing but their farming tools, a large supply of rotten ham and their courage and faith in their queen, slaying the monstrosities to the last. Truly, this will be our finest hour! History shall remember this moment as another glorious page in the annals of the Töan Kingdom. Rejoice, immortality is ours!"

And then she charged,trusting in her armor, her fellow horde members, and historical inevitability as she flailed her fists against the flesh of the laughing Wendigo, since that was the one the strategic genius who advised Grimper had chosen to attack.

"SIEGING LESSON NUMBER THIRTY THREE!" Stårn hollered over the din of the Wendigos, "How to siege a building from the inside!"

"MAN THE RAM, AND WE WILL BRING THE ROOF DOWN ON THEM!"

"Of course! Someone help us, we have to make a ton of noise! They'll see us as the biggest threat!"

Humbug missed his watch whistle - it would have made this easier. Sticking his fingers in his mouth, he whistled an ear-piercing-

*PHWEEE*

-to attract the attention of the three wendigos, before grabbing the Ram together with stout Stårn the Sieger, whose suggestion happened to match a standard City Watch tactic of Wendigo Disposal for whenever a bad case of advancing Monsterism went undetected until it became a Public Problem. The practice mainly consisted of throwing a few guardstö with whistles to distract the berserk creature with REALLY LOUD NOISESand their bodies while a squad of better-armed guards put pikes and crossbows to work. It'd been a while sine Humbug had seen the procedure in practice though, and he had no idea if using a ram on an Oh-Gee corridor wall was the best of ideas.

Still, it was bound to make a lot of noise, and it had to be better than punching at the things with his bare hands or running, whistling and dodging around the wendigos!

Well, at least they had fewer appendages and terrifying hellmouths than Portha had imagined on her way to the prison. Already desensitized to the horrific wendigo from her thoughts on the way to prison, she wasn't too worried about charging past them to attack the guards.

If only she'd had more time before the fight, her new "weapon" was just some garbage she'd rummaged from camp the previous night, taped together with bandages she'd grabbed on the way out of the medical tent and shoved on the end of her pointy stick to make a crude slingshot. It probably had less range than the stick normally did. Making the ammo while running to Nägel had been the hard part, especially while screaming in terror the entire time.

Her masterwork ammo: Nailbread, the best improvised bullets she could make with stuff rummaged from the horde's garbage; hunks of burnt bread thoughtlessly discarded by the angry soldiers, shoved full of nails that had failed to meet the ritual's standard. She pulled a chunk of the bread out of her scarf, ran up to a guard about to open a cell and shot him in the face.

...they shall march out of my laboratory and sweep away every adversary, every creed, every nation, until the very planet is in the loving grip of the Pax Bisonica. And then peace will reign, and the world, and all humanity, shall bow to me in humble gratitude...

BAH! The beauties of sieging were wasted on the Warlord. But one day he'd show him! One day, the Warlord would be brought to see things his way. One day he wouldn't waste the time of his foremost Sieging Specialist on such manual labor.

Perhaps it was time for a demonstration on the beauties of sieging?

"SIEGING LESSON NUMBER THIRTY THREE!" Stårn hollered over the din of the Wendigos, "How to siege a building from the inside!"

"MAN THE RAM, AND WE WILL BRING THE ROOF DOWN ON THEM!"

How's that for a distraction?

Sieging the walls with Ram for the most distracting of distractions!: 1d100+45=63

A proud smile on his bruised and battered face, Splut unsheathed his sword cane in a single smooth, ringing movement, the cane scabbard now clutched in his off-hand to ward off blows, as he stormed into the fray to fight shoulder to shoulder with the best risk assessor among Töans and Frömen alike.

Gryph's blood chilled as the cacophony of noise echoed through the corridors. Wendigos! Someone in the prison had been storing Wendigos?! But there was no time for thinking. Gryph ran with the To streaming towards the sound, recognising faces from the contingent left at Fostis. Wherever the hell they'd come from, Gryph was glad for their help. This was further compounded as he realised the magnitude of the task ahead. Three Wendigos! Each of them blasting out noise and din, designed entirely to distract and disorient.

With no weapons or armour to his name, Gryph was ill-prepared to take on one Wendigo, let alone three! But the Fostis garrison, despite their obvious fatigue were heavily armoured. Sporting brand new shiny swords! Maybe, just maybe, only a few would die! But Gryph needed an edge; you don't throw yourself to death unless Grimper demands it.

Of course! Gryph ran to Humbug and Starn the Sieger, grabbing one more part of the ram and joining them in swinging it with all his might. his mouth took up the same cry as Humbug. You adapt to not having half a face, and Gryph had long learned how to whistle loudly through his nose. He put all his might into using that now.

*PHWEEE*

Grab the Ram and Help Distract the Wendigos!Distraction Time: 1d100+2+20(ram)116

Torchlighter fucked around with this message at Nov 8, 2017 around 00:05

Whereas the first day of running was rather sloshy, what with all the water she had just drunk...running through the night had given Neebs an appreciation for being hydrated.

There was no chance to grab a good drink when they arrived at Nagel. First they crushed some fleeing prison guards before rushing inside to meet up with the rest of the horde.

Then, Wendigos! Her good pal Noggins seemed to have formed a good contingent of Unexpectables to handle the Loud One...so, Neebs did what any proper Lieutenant would do; and decided to charge the Ugly One to keep it busy while the others handled the more dangerous one. Hopefully a few mooks would back her up.

It turns out you can't backflip continuously for over a day of solid marching. After setting off with high hopes and a spring in her step, Hat heard the grumbles from some of the others about "showing off" and "being distracting". And what a relentless pace! Only a few hours in and Hat was lagging back by the wagons, slowly putting one foot in front of the other. Time didn't matter. Jumping or hats didn't matter. The boring, monotonous Fröan countryside certainly didn't matter. Nägel was all that mattered.

Hat looked around at the rest of the Horde's rearguard. The poor, unfortunate souls who'd drawn wagon duty; the ever-encouraging voice of Magda, shaming, berating and insulting all those slow enough to remain in earshot; and a clump of coughing, spluttering mooks who had met Sungazer, and were discovering that the march was causing their Skinkellelomas to flare up, pustules erupting for every hard-earned mile. Hat covered her face with the scarf in a feeble attempt to ward off the pox. She tried to tap into some deeper knowledge from the Skillcore; the best way to run and approach a backflip, perhaps? Anything to make this accursed march end.

The sun disappeared. They marched on.
The sun reappeared. Still they marched on.

One would assume that Nägel, fearsome prison, was at least partially designed to look intimidating, the very sight of it being the first step in irretrievably breaking your body and spirit as you capitulated to your new Fröan masters. For the rest of the Horde, it had the opposite effect, gladdening their hearts and spurring all of them on to their journey's rest. The sudden appearance of sixty-odd Töans cheering on the plain must have been quite a surprise to those Fröans trying to sneakily escape to the nearest town, which is probably why they broke cover and started to make a dash for it. An understandable reaction, but revealing your presence to a tired and bored Horde made it the last mistake they ever made. Hat was half-asleep with exhaustion, and wasn't 100% sure these enemies were even real, but the cobalt blood on the end of her newly-forged spear certainly felt and smelled real enough.

And finally, they were in the prison. No more fast walking. A chance to sit for a few minutes, quickly refill the water canteen from the prison's taps and catch up with the rest of the Horde. Just in time to see those vault hinges crack, and to descend into whatever madness lay ahead.

Oh piss. Wendigos. The realisation was a sudden bolt of energy. Hat hugged the left wall, trying to get close to the Ugly one. Muttering a quiet prayer that her spear's length would protect her from infection, Hat rasied it above average Töan height, so as to avoid any friendlies, and charged.

As fearsome as the three Wendigoes up front were, if there was to be any chance of taking Nägel, the guards had to be stopped from releasing more of them from containment. For that purpose Sucy slipped through the hallway and engaged them with her brüm.

Nägel Corrections Facility: When Gawp and the rest of the Horde's lagging wagon trains arrived at the scene, Nägel was already in utter chaos. The front door was busted open, several messy trenches filled with bodies had been dug up along the entryway, and a contingent of runaway prison guards had just been put to the sword, long before anyone could get away to tell the tale. Good. On his way inside Gawp hopped onto the back of a face-down guard with both his feet and watched as bubbles formed in the mud around the dead Fröman's head.

Indoors, things were not much better. It was dark, it was bleak, and furthermore the stark concrete and metal walls were spattered with the blue blood of the enemy. Gawp was carrying a large sack of stale, burnt, and otherwise-inedible bread slung over his shoulder, ready to hand out loaves to the victorious attackers who had successfully laid siege to the prison. Such members of Unexpectables had missed out the Horde's last downtime, and so Gawp sought to find them out and feed them something. The prison warden's offices had already been thoroughly ransacked, so Gawp entered the room right behind the warden's quarters, just in time to see the hatch to the Old Guys vault get cracked open by the others.

With a sharp, spine-rattling screech and the terrifying hiss of pressurized gases, the hatch finally gave way with a resounding *POP,* flipping itself open with such earth-shattering force that it sent those closest to it hurtling bodily into the walls, the ceiling, and each other. Those who took the brunt of the hit directly seemed a little worse for the wear, but they'd soon recover from their daze once they got their first real look at the inside of an Old Guys vault! Their injuries didn't matter in the greater scheme of things, after all - it was far more important that the Old Guys' vault was now open! Gawp stared at the bare, broken gate made of pure Olivite, mesmerized by it's dark green luster. He went inside the open portal and climbed below with the others...

Gawp had just barely arrived inside an expansive and poorly-lit corridor, when suddenly Dack rounded the corner and came dashing towards the group at a full sprint. At first, Gawp didn't know what to think. He reached into his sack and pulled out an expired loaf of bread, to offer it to the famished, inbound athlete. What Gawp didn't expect was for Dack to continue running on past him, completely ignoring the offered hunk of starch with a look of abject horror fixed on his face. What arrived next in the corridor answered all of Gawp's follow-up questions:

Wendigos! Not one, not two, but three horrifying Wendigos, all raring for a fight! What a terrible time for Gawp to have rejoined with the others!

Gawp grabbed for his trusty weapon and began digging through the burlap sack of stale, burnt bread. He wasn't going to let himself get close to the Wendigos, not if he could help it!

There was a trick that Gawp had learned in the forests outside Fostis when he was trying to tame the Sungazer - one that required all of his attention. He needed to watch the many eyes of his opponents all at once, so he can better predict their movements and attacks.

Using his keen eyesight to keep watch on all three of the Wendigos at once, Gawp began lobbing hunks of the hard, rock-like bread at the enemy, aiming for their eyes so as to distract them.

Dack can't exactly scream his lungs out with his tongue in the way, but sprinting full speed away from the Wendigos with his arms and tongue flailing through the air was basically the same thing. He felt some relief seeing the entire horde waiting just outside, only to realize with terror that Warlord Grimper was there too, and ordering the Unexpectables to attack the Wendigos. Dack was an Unexpectable, which meant he was currently disobeying the Warlord's orders. Desperately looking for a way to contribute that didn't involve him trying to punch those things, Dack takes up the last spot on the ram. Sadly, sieging and athletics have very little in common, and despite his internal boasting earlier, Dack was starting to feel a little tired from sprinting for his life.

HOLY CRAP! Wendigos! Loose Wendigos! Ringo looks at his hands...yup, still without any weapons. Maybe it'd be best for the others to tackle those monsters. The guards on the other hand. They'd be a lot less of a challenge, and it's perhaps A BIT important that no more wendigos get out.

Bully is cheered by seeing the hordes charge against the Wendigos, but, still feeling somewhat weakened by the march, he fears he might be a liability interceding himself among their number and potentially increasing their risk of acquiring Monsterism (and perhaps aggravating his own condition). Spotting the guards seeking to release yet more, he draws his sword-cane and charges them.EN GARDE, BLACKGUARDS!: 1d100+14:73

Running with fake legs wasn't as hard as he thought it was going to be. Sure, it wasn't EASY, but Biggo was adapting. The whole time they were running towards Nagel, he was reconsidering his stance on kicking. Perhaps with fake legs kicking would be more effective? It was worth investigating at a later date.

Once they reached the Wendigos, most of the Horde seemed apprehesive about fighting. Well, not Biggo. At least you could punch Wendigos, not like Old Guy vaults. And once you have your legs painlessly cut off by an Old Guy trap other things start seeming a lot less scary. With that in mind, he reared up and aimed a punch directly at the Loud Wendigo. It was hard to focus with all that noise, laughter and ugliness can be ignored for punching later if need be, but a true fistfighter needs focus to fight.

But it was no use, it was too loud. He couldn't focus properly, so his punch didn't land very well. The legs were bothering him too, now. Everything was bothering him. Is this a side effect of being near Wendigos? All Biggo knew is that he was getting really really annoyed at these loud annoying things in front of him.

Next time you crack open a pack of Unexpectable-brand chewing güm, make sure you hold on to your Horde Trading Cards! They're valuable collectors items featuring your very favorite Horde members, complete with stats and records of their most glorious deeds! Collect them all!

Next time you crack open a pack of Unexpectable-brand chewing güm, make sure you hold on to your Horde Trading Cards! They're valuable collectors items featuring your very favorite Horde members, complete with stats and records of their most glorious deeds! Collect them all!

Next time you crack open a pack of Unexpectable-brand chewing güm, make sure you hold on to your Horde Trading Cards! They're valuable collectors items featuring your very favorite Horde members, complete with stats and records of their most glorious deeds! Collect them all!

“Kill them! Kill them! Don’t let them touch you!” Grimper’s voice was edged with panic, and that more than anything drove the Horde onwards. The things jiggled as they walked, as though their bones were set imperfectly inside their bodies, but their claws scored a sparking line through the metal of the tunnel’s floor. They approached with a cacophony of gibbering, trying to push past one another to get to the morsels flooding towards them. Three was bad enough - they couldn’t afford the release of any others! In between orders, the Warlord demanded that the bastards who had released them be shut down! Pythag the Mathematician led a charge, bulling between their legs and past them into the corridor beyond. They rounded a corner to find a gaggle of frightened and determined guards, nearly a score of them already writhing on the floor from Wendigo-inflicted wounds. The release hadn’t gone smoothly for them, either, and Pythag felt himself filled with a unexpectedly perverse joy at their failure. The Warden was nowhere to be seen. Later, then. He roared and charged them!

Pythag slammed his shield down through a Fröman skull, stopping only long enough to confirm he was down. They made short work of the rest, making drat certain to kill those who had been stricken - it wouldn’t do for them to suddenly rise up as Wendigos or something and attack them from behind. He heard the roar of battle and agony coming from down the hall, but he dared not go back - he had a duty here, and he would do as he was told. The other Wendigos howled and mewled against their cages, but the guards hadn’t been able (or willing) to release any of them. The walls would hold them, for now. What the hell was going on down here, anyhow? Prisoners in glassed enclosures pressed themselves as far away from him as they could while he walked past, covering misshappen heads and bodies as though the Wendigos could get in there and kill them. He did a double take when he saw Snödis the Poet in one such chamber, looking perfectly at ease with a group of scientists and guards all cowering around her. He gave her a frantic shrug and crook of his eyebrow, and she just looked at him.

She shrugged back as much as her bindings would allow, and he had to shake his head and move on. She seemed to have things well in hand, and she was safer in there than out here. He had his companions fan out and secure the area, then looked towards the tunnel mouth and waited. Come on. Come on, Unexpectables, pull it off. They’d survived overwhelming odds before and they’d do it aga-

---
“COME ON! LOOK THIS WAY!” Gryph the Medic bellowed, slamming the Terrible Ram into the walls with the rest of the distraction team. The Wendigos’ eyes swiveled to face him - but not enough of them, not enough to pull them away. The beasts were among them now, nearly Grimper’s height though the Warlord yet hung back from combat. Coward!, he thought, before he corrected himself. It was a Warlord’s duty to lead, not to fight, and besides Grimper seemed leery about unleashing his real power here. He tore his eyes away from the blood that was already shedding and slammed the ram once more. They were all yelling now, trying to draw focus from the melee. They slammed it against a metal pillar and it rang like a bell.

The Wendigos rolled their eyes in pain and distraction, wheeling to face them - enough for the Horde to pile on a flurry of furious blows in the time allotted to them. The beasts’ flesh split under the assaults, only to bloom with tumorous lumps of coagulated ichor. In a quieter time, it would have been enough to sicken even the heartiest constitution, but right now only the fight mattered. What else could they do but keep hacking at them!?

---
The Ugly Wendigo threw itself off the floor and walls, its one disproportionate arm used as a powerful leg. It landed awkwardly every time, rolling and bowling over its attackers with its drunken mass. Bones broke, blood flew from spittle-flecked lips, but still they fought. Grag the Bandager held onto it’s tiny arm, wrenching it against the natural direction until the cartilage and bone ground like river rocks in a canvas bag. The foolish thing didn’t even react, slamming itself against the wall and howling in pain. And all along the process, it spoke incessantly, nonsense words and nonsense reactions. ”́҉̷Y̡̕ę͡͡s͜͟,́̕͢ ̛͘t͞͠͏̨h̡͘r̴̀͟҉è̕̕e͘͢ ̸͝͞è̢g̢̕̕͢͜g͏̵҉̧̛s̸̴̕͢ ͠҉̷̴̡t̷̴̕͏ó̵̕d̀̕à҉͘͞͞y҉͟͏̸͢,̶͢ ̷̶Í̶̛͢ ̨͘͜͟t̡͜͞h͏̸̧̕͘i̢͟҉͜n̢̡҉ḱ̡̕͟.̡͜͡͡͝ ͢͡N̸̨̧ớ,͞͝ ҉̧̨̨҉I̧̨ ̛҉̨k̸̸̡͢͢n͘͘҉́͠ǫ̶w͢͜͝ ̸́͘I̢ ͘͜͞b̀͢͞o̶̧͠ư̵̧g҉̶̨͞h̡t̢̡͜͡ ͝͡҉̕s̀͢͞ò͘͢͜m̢̨͢͢͠e҉̛͝͏ ̷̸̷̢͜y̡͏̛́̀e͡҉͟s̶̕͘͟ţ̶̨̨̛e̸͟r̸͠͞d́͠a̛̕͘͟͡y̴͡ ̛҉̷҉b̶̶͜ừ̕҉t̸̷́͜͞ ̧I̢̧͘̕͞ ͘͏͘͠b̧̕ŕ̴r̛̀͞r͝r̶͡r̴̨r̸͜ŗ̶̴̶r̛r̢̢͘r̸͘r̨r͏̀͡r͏̷̛͡r̴̶͞͠͝r̡͝r͞r̡҉̧͢r͏҉͢b͠͡r̢̡̨o̵̶͘͞͞k̴̨̀͘è̴̀̕ ̀̀͡t̡҉̸̛h͏̡̡͜e̸̸͠m̶̡̢ ̵̶̷a̴̛͡ņ̶͘͡ḑ̵̛͜ ̶̨̨̕n̵̨o̵̧w̡ ̸͡I͏̴ ͢͟͜͠n̢͠e͝҉͡e̷̢d̨̢ ̨́t̸̸͢͞o̴͜ ́͟͟m̧̀͞à̢̨̛͘k̶͘͜͡ę̨ ̨̨͢a̷̕ ̵̛n̶e̷̴̵̵e͘͠͏̨d̡̛͏͝ ̨͏̡͜t̕͢͠͡͝ơ̧҉̷̵ ̛҉m͢͡ą̀͝k̵̕͜҉é̴͘͝҉ ̸̢́̕͢á ̵̡c̛҉̶̸a̵͠ç̀a̢͘à̵̢҉a̢͘͞͡k̶̀͟͟e̸͡҉ ̷̛͠͠͞a̛͜ņḑ̀͘ ̴͏̛͏Ì̀ ́̕͜h͏a̵̡̛v̴̢ȩ͜ ̴̴̧̡͏n̢͟͞ơ̢͠͝ ̧͟e̵̛͏g̡͟-̨́͟͟”͏́͝͞ “Shut the gently caress up!” Slam, slam, slam!

It rolled and crushed him against the floor, and he fell silent. It laughed and kept rambling, then picked up some wounded and began to crunch them up in mishapen teeth. Crunch crunch crunch, swallow.

(Almost all of you take 2 Damage, and the lowest roller (a Mook) gets Mutated… Unless...)

---
The Laughing Wendigo could barely attack them with its arms; such was its mirth that it covered its face with all four hands and laughed and laughed and laughed while it kicked at them with legs that were little more than hanging, flabby things of flesh. Every once in a while the mouth on its chest would lick its lips, but it didn’t open. It looked like it lacked the mechanisms to do so, and somehow that made it worse. Gigs the Unflappable stabbed it with his sword cane, piercing its bloated flesh over and over, drawing out ropy tendrils of fat instead of blood. They poured out like paint from a tube, and surely didn’t look like they were slowing the thing down. He didn’t lose heart easily, however, and kept attacking - pain or not, the sheer weight of the thing would pull it down if they could take out enough vitals… but where were the vitals!?

The tongue lashed out and the thing turned nearly inside out to project the fleshy organ further. Dry and cracked like dead flesh, it slammed back and forth, crushing the warriors against the walls and eachother. Gigs felt something break inside him and his breath grew short. It was so dark in here, and getting darker…

(All of you take 2 Damage, and the extra Threat overflows to hit low rollers from another group… Unless...)

---
The Loud Wendigo was just screaming. There were words in there, but so sped up and terrified-sounding that they were all but incoherent. It hid its body and curled up against itself, but slammed at them with its long neck and sharp teeth. Unpleasantly, it struck with its upper and lower ‘jaws’ independantly, slapping and stretching against one another and scoring its own flesh with its jagged teeth as it ululated. Gabber the Mimic, his eyes lustrous in the dark tunnel, blocked and slashed as the attacks came, uniquely perceptive in the dark. What he saw around him was not encouraging, and so he kept his eyes front. The thing’s scream made him feel like echoing it, but with lips sealed all he could do was moan as he struck it again and again.

The thing spasmed under their blows, then opened its mouth even wider, tearing it nearly in half as an even louder scream burst from it and ruptured eardrums and eyes and kidneys. It quivered under its own assault and slumped towards the dead and dying with mindless purpose.

(Almost all of you take 2 Damage, and the lowest two rollers (both Mooks) gets Mutated… Unless...)

---
Grimper watched with mounting anger and fear and the smallest, smallest inklings of compassion. This was bullshit. The Frömen had shown themselves once more to be scum - releasing Wendigos, un-Branded? Those collosal loving morons! Those suicidal red bastards! He couldn’t let this stand, for Tö’s sake - or for the Unexpectable Horde’s! They may be weak, they may be cowards, but they were H̶̨͝I̶̴̴̡S̷̕͠! He walked towards the Wendigos, and they sensed him coming. They displayed their claws and teeth, but he didn’t give half a poo poo. “UNEXPECTABLES, THOSE WHO CAN HEAR ME - B͜҉̕R͠A̸͜C̷̸̡͞E҉̴ ͢҉́͠Y͝͏̡͝Ơ̕U͘͘R̴̛͟͡S̛͘͏̧È͞Ĺ̡́V̴̢͠E͢Ś̵!̀͘͏”

(Destroy the Laughing Wendigo, preventing all Damage - but not Mutation)

Kill The Loud One!

(Destroy the Loud Wendigo, preventing all Damage - but not Mutation)

Push Beyond!

(Roll twice and attack two of them - if either roll is not enough to beat the Wendigos’ roll this round, Grimper himself will take Damage, in addition to failing!)

Push Even Further!

(Roll three times and attack three of them - if any roll is not enough to beat the Wendigos’ roll this round, Grimper himself will take Damage, in addition to failing! May cause Grimper’s death!)

(Alright, so. That could have gone better! No actions for anyone this round (except maybe Snödis and Pythag’s group if they feel like it?), just do the vote here. Grimper rolled well enough to definitely kill at least one of the dudes and prevent that group from being harmed. The others may be poo poo out of luck! Unless there’s an overwhelming vote to push further, whichever one of the Wendigos has most votes will be killed. Now, let’s be clear - you all rolled really drat well, and the Wendigos are toast regardless. This is just a roll to see who comes out unscathed. If you DO die, I recommend you just make a new character and pop back in! Don't worry too much about Glory loss, you'll have opportunities to make it up!

Dog Kisser fucked around with this message at Nov 10, 2017 around 03:55